


Brotherhood

by TheWolfoftheStars



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dettlaff lives, Geralt also kept Corvo Bianco bc the man deserves a break and also screw it I do what I want, I haven't read the books so forgive me if I get something wrong, Not Beta Read, Post-Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), possible Geralt/Regis later? I'm weak for this ship, tags to be added as I write more of this thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-08-05 12:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16367621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolfoftheStars/pseuds/TheWolfoftheStars
Summary: After the events of Blood & Wine, Regis hauls Dettlaff back to Tesham Mutna in hopes of calming him down, but Dettlaff escapes, swearing vengeance on Toussaint. Regis embarks on a journey, with the help of his old Witcher friend, to stop his brother from destroying the duchy--and confronts his own shameful past in the process.





	1. A Brother Lost

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've written anything creatively, but I've had this idea bouncing around in my head for a while and decided to get it down on paper (or screen, I suppose I should say). I'm in university and taking some pretty tough classes, so updates may come slowly. Don't worry, though; I am determined to finish this thing. Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Enjoy!

The Toussaint sky glowed pink and gold in the evening light, clouds set aflame by the sinking red sun. A grove of oaks cast long, wide, knobbly shadows over the ground, like a group of stooping old hags that had gathered in the dying daylight to squabble and gossip. Not the tiniest breath of wind stirred their broad green leaves. The day, though beautiful, had been an uncomfortably hot one; many of the larger forest animals had retired to their dens for the afternoon, and were only now returning to the surface. A buck stepped delicately up to a pond’s edge for a drink, flicking its ears at the mosquitoes and biting flies that fretted at its face. A pair of songbirds warbled sweetly to each other across the boughs.

An ear-piercing screech sent them all scattering.

In a clearing nearby, a monstrous creature launched himself at his blood-brother. He missed, of course--he knew Regis would never allow himself to be mauled, he was an idiot but he wasn’t _that_ much of an idiot--but it was about sending a _message._

Regis re-materialized a fair distance away. “Dettlaff, I understand you are upset, this has all been very upsetting for you--”

 _“Quit babbling!”_ he spat in their native language, the language of vampires. _“You do not understand how I feel! You will never understand!”_

 _“I may not understand, but I_ feel _it, Dettlaff, I_ feel _it, you know this...”_ Regis responded in kind. Panic sparked across their blood bond, only for a moment, but it was enough to set Dettlaff off. Fury roared in his heart, bursting from him in another screech, and he charged again.

Regis dissipated yet again, drifting away and returning to his corporeal form a bit slower than before. His eyes were wide, his breathing shallow. _“Dettlaff, I am in a position to help you like no one else, please allow me to do so…”_

 _“I don’t want your help,”_ the beast snapped in response. _“I want vengeance. I want the humans to pay for what they’ve done. I want that damned queen to burn, and her duchy, too. I want that idiot of a witcher to be torn limb from limb. I want Toussaint razed to the ground.”_

 _“No, it’s not what you want.”_ Regis’ voice quaked, but he did not falter. _“Were you to do this, you would not be any happier or more fulfilled. It is not vengeance you seek, but self-destruction.”_ Regis took a cautious step closer. _“Dettlaff, please, we spoke about this, I implore you to calm yourself…”_

_“No, you spoke about this. You locked me in that infernal cage and rambled at me for hours, and then you left me there for hours more.”_

Regis snarled then, fingers curling into fists, nails biting at his palms. _“You know why I had to keep you in Tesham Mutna! I did not trust you to keep yourself from rampaging. I still do not, in fact. After tonight, we may need to return for a spell.”_

 _“I am not a_ child _to be_ handled, _Regis!”_

Regis gritted his teeth and stepped back at the roar. _“I never said you were. I am merely doing what is necessary--”_

_“Necessary!? It was_ necessary _to leave me locked up for months!? Months, Regis!”_

The anguish in his cry tore a hole through Regis’ heart. _“It was necessary, yes! You will not make me regret my decision!”_ His eyes flashed black.

 _“You may believe what you want about what’s_ necessary _, Regis,”_ Dettlaff hissed, _“But I’ll tell you one thing--I had every intention of leaving the world of humans behind before you made your damned decision. Now, I might just need to get involved again. That night in Beauclair was only the beginning. Your precious Toussaint will be dead and gone in a month.”_

A perverse satisfaction bloomed in his chest as despair welled across their blood bond. He’d struck a chord, clearly. He shoved away the guilt that came with it.

Then a mass of flesh and fur slammed into him, sending him rolling into a nearby tree and knocking the wind from his lungs. Regis’ bestial form was bigger than him, heavier-set and more animalistic. But he was uncoordinated; it had been years since he had last taken this form, and it showed. Dettlaff retreated for half a moment, and then lunged forward, claws whirling and slicing, teeth snapping, putting Regis on the defense.

Regis fell back, perhaps a bit more surprised than he should have been. Surely, his brother wouldn’t truly attempt to injure him… But if he was, then there was no persuading him to calm down now. He’d have to be knocked out, and taken back to Tesham Mutna…

His thoughts were cut short as a vicious set of teeth sank into his left wing and jerked from side to side. He yowled in pain, swiping at Dettlaff with long, serrated claws. Dettlaff pulled away, shrieking at the jagged row of scratches that now marred his face, but not without biting off a massive chunk of flesh. Blood ran freely from the gouge; it would not heal for a very long while, inflicted by another higher vampire. Regis folded the wing back in hopes of keeping it away from further damage. He could manage without. After all, he still had five working limbs. He charged at Dettlaff, hoping to catch him off guard and knock him down.

Unfortunately, he’d been prepared. He leapt into flight, letting Regis smash into the tree behind him.

Regis reeled from the impact, hardly noticing as the tree toppled over in response. By the time he reoriented himself, Dettlaff was already gone.

Regis spread his wings, intending to follow him, but stopped and dug his claws into the dirt when his wound screamed with pain. Instead, he reared up on his hind legs and wailed, long and mournful, into the night sky.

At first, there was no response. Then, Regis became aware of a feeling, steadily growing, over the blood bond.

Agony drove through his skull, crashed in his chest, burned through him like acid, and he was lost in a sea of fury and self-loathing, and he was the sea--a storm dashing against a dissolving shore--lashing against everything--anything--

He tore himself away from the bond before he became utterly lost.

In the distance, he thought he heard an answering cry echo through the forest.


	2. A Pair of Notices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's NaNoWriMo! Which does not mean I'll be writing the rest of this thing this month, unfortunately, because University is Hard™. I will try to get a lot of work done on it, though. Enjoy!

The midday sun burned over barren Toussaint plains. The world was dead and still; not a creature stirred from its den, not even a rotfiend. The atmosphere seemed oppressively heavy and far too thin all at once, as though even if one dragged as much air into his lungs as he could, he'd still never properly fill them. A uselessly hot breath of wind rattled the tall grasses and dry creek-bed reeds, the water they’d stood in long since evaporated. The corpse of a deer lay beside the former stream, flayed open by some horrible beast and terrorized by flies. Their buzzing seemed amplified by the heat. A crow flapped down from a branch to pick at the remains. A faint acrid stench drifted on the breeze. Geralt's lip curled. Fire, somewhere. Hopefully nowhere nearby.

He leaned back in the saddle, eyes shut tight against the glaring sun, his face scrunched up with discomfort. Toussaint was too damned hot for northerners. Sure, the cold sucked, but you could always layer up, light a fire. With heat, though, all you could do is sweat through your armor and pray tomorrow’s not so unbearable. He’d become a bit of a shut-in these past few months, just to stay out of the sun, taking contracts that let him act at dawn or dusk. He’d almost forgotten what noon felt like. Now he’d give anything to forget it.

But this summer had been a hard one for everyone, most of all the peasants working the untamed lands far outside the borders of Beauclair. They were a hardy folk, but drought was enough to bring the toughest to keel. Villages weakened by heat, thirst, and hunger were prime targets for monsters and bandits. As horrible as droughts were, they brought plenty of work to a witcher.

Roach panted as she cantered along the path. Geralt sighed and tugged on the reins, slowing her to an easy trot. She whuffed gratefully in response. He leaned forward to scratch idly behind her ear, squinting ahead, trying to catch a glimpse of civilization.

The village ahead was perhaps not the best example, a collection of cottages gathered along a road that saw little use, the villagers too poor and overburdened to build an inn. These settlements were common so far from the major cities; a few people saw fit to build homes and shops along a road, hoping travellers would come through, but they never really did. They were boomtowns gone bust before they’d even had a chance to boom.Geralt had a certain fondness for them, though. The people, though poor, were always very kind, and excited to see one of the legendary witchers visit their unknown little hamlet. Not many were out and about at such an hour, though a pair of old ladies were hanging shirts from a clothesline beside the notice board.

Geralt slowed Roach to a walk and dismounted beside the board. A few sun-bleached scraps of parchment stuck to it. A crow fussed at one of them as it fluttered in the hot wind. After a moment, it raised it head and fixed Geralt with a beady gaze. Geralt glared at itand then squinted at the notices. A gwent tournament tonight at the inn the next town over… Someone very angry at a neighbor for supposed goose theft… Hmm. He pulled the next one down.

_A warning--_

_A terrible beast has ravaged Black-Cat’s Hollow! I saw it with my own two eyes, and I may be the only survivor. I pray that you will never see such destruction and bloodshed in all your lives. Avoid the place like the plague. Don’t go back to mourn or to collect the bodies, you will surely be killed too._

Geralt frowned as he read. This looked like it could turn into a contract, but whoever had put it up hadn’t written their name, nor had they mentioned pay. He hated this sort of notice, really. Traipsing around knocking on doors to find the writer was never fun, and they usually left money unmentioned for a reason. In these little settlements, few had the coin to hire a witcher.

But they often turned out to be the more interesting cases he worked on. Explicit contracts were easy money, and straightforward, but too many of them and Geralt became immensely bored. Sometimes he needed to take the hit to his wallet to avoid going mad with the doldrum. 

“You lookin’ at that notice Essie put up?”

Geralt looked up. One of the old women was watching him read. “You know much about this?” Geralt replied, gesturing at the page.

“Not much. I just know poor little Essie came runnin’ into town one day sobbin’ her eyes out, gasping this and that about some monster tearing everyone apart. Me an’ Tilda got her calmed down enough to talk some sense, and she told us that her whole village had been killed by a horrible creature.”

“Every last one of ‘em, dead!” The other woman put in. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard her, almost wanted to go have a look meself, but Essie insisted that we all had to stay away. I got no idea what coulda scared her so bad, but it musta been somthin’ real horrible indeed. The poor girl,” she added as she shook her head, “Whole family died, an’ lost everything she ever owned. We took her in, o’ course, we aren’t animals, but you can’t replace family.”

“Think I could talk to her?”

The first lady frowned. “We don’t have no extra money for you, mister witcher.”

“I won’t ask for money yet,” he reassured them. “Don’t know if this’ll even turn out to be a contract. But this monster could still be a danger to her, and to you, too, if it’s not dealt with. I’m willing to look into it.”

The two women exchanged a look. “Oh, all right then,” The first answered. “But you’d better not upset her, mister witcher, she’s very fragile right now and she don’t need--”

“I’ll be careful with her, I promise,” Geralt said, waving a hand in dismissal. “Could you get her for me?”

The woman rolled her eyes, muttering something about disrespectful young men under her breath, and the two ladies walked off towards one of the cottages.

A caw sounded from his right. He turned to look at the crow perched on the notice board. It blinked at him. 

Geralt raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Yeah? What’s it to you?”

The crow stared at him for a moment. Then it cawed again, softer this time. It lifted a leg. A rolled-up bit of parchment swung from a thread tied to it.

He grinned. It had been a while since he’d heard from his fanged friend. He reached up to untie the note, giving the crow a little scratch on the head before it took off.

His grin faded as he read it.

_Dearest friend,_

_Something terrible has happened, and I am in urgent need of your assistance. Where and whenever this missive finds you, I urge you to return to Corvo Bianco as soon as you possibly can. Ride with haste, for the whole of Toussaint is in mortal peril._

_-Regis_

His heart lurched with fear. Regis wasn’t the sort to panic over nothing. If he said Toussaint was in danger, then it surely was. But what, aside from higher vampires, could put the whole duchy in danger? And if that were the case, there was little a witcher could do to help matters, as higher vampires were impervious to anything he could throw at them. The best method for dealing with them was still to scatter the remains to slow regeneration. _Why would he need my help?_

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps. Whatever the problem was, it would have to wait a little while. He turned to face the two old women. Between them stood a young girl, younger than Ciri, with brown eyes wide as moons and freckles scattered over her cheeks. “Tilda and Doris said you wanted to ask me about--about what happened,” she squeaked out.

“That’s right,” Geralt said, nodding. “Why don’t you start from the beginning? What were you doing when the monster attacked?”

“We-well, I was out in the field, taking care o’ one of our heifers. She wasn’t doing very well, what with this heat, an’ I was worried about her, cuz losin’ a heifer’s always a shame, y’know, you spend a whole year raisin’ her up an’ you don’t want her to die, ‘specially when she’s got a calf on the way, ‘cuz then all that time an’ coin was for nothin’, an’ you might not have enough to make it through the rest o’ the year… Oh, I’m sorry, mister witcher, but I’m ramblin’, I really don’t wanna talk about it... “

Geralt simply waited, gaze locked with hers.

Essie sighed and looked away. “But I s’pose if it’ll keep anyone else from going through that, too…” She looked back at Geralt. “I heard screamin’ from back at the house, an’ there was this awful tearing sound. I ran back an’ I saw…” Her expression tightened, tears welling in her eyes. “I saw my papa. He was dead, it was terrible, he was--”

“You don’t have to tell me about that part, it’s okay,” Geralt interrupted. “But can you tell me what the monster looked like?”

The girl looked relieved to change the subject. “Oh, yes, it was so strange an’ scary. It was shaped a bit like a man, but very large, an’ it had long, sharp claws, and two sets o’ wings on its back. And then I saw its face…” she shuddered. “But it didn’t have a face, just a huge mouth full o’ nasty teeth.”

Geralt’s heart sank. That sounded a whole lot like Dettlaff. But how had he gotten here, and why was he terrorizing a village?

“Thank you, Essie,” he said. “Is there anything else you can think of to tell me?”

Essie shook her head. “No, sir. Will you go to Black-Cat’s Hollow?”

“I think I will, but I need to talk to someone first.”

Essie’s face brightened. “Thank you, mister witcher! I promise I’ll find a way to pay you!”

“Nahh, don’t worry about that right now. We can talk money once I come back.”

“Will you be gone long?”

Geralt hesitated. “I don’t know. But I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Please come back quickly,” she urged him. “I don’t want the monster to attack anywhere else.”

“I’ll try my best.”

In a heartbeat, Geralt was back on the road to Corvo Bianco, ignoring how Roach laid her ears back when he spurred her to a canter. He hoped he wasn’t already too late.


	3. A Tale to Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this pile of words has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I finally decided to just up and publish the thing. Enjoy!

“Oh, thank goodness, I had hoped you weren’t far from the estate--”

There’s a little jolt in Geralt’s mind as Regis wraps his arms around him. Ciri did this to him, too. He’d always been a bit shocked when people expressed affection for him physically. Growing up as a witcher, he’d learned that touch was reserved for a very few certain situations. Touch is the sensation of knuckles smashing into a man’s jaw, the warm leather grip of a sword in one’s palm, the rush of flame or wind at one’s fingertips upon the casting of a sign. Touch is for battle, and touch is also for sex. Touch is a rare and powerful thing, to be treated like a tool, used only when necessary. To see others use said tool so readily, in situations that did not seem to call for it, was slightly baffling to him. He was worse in the beginning, fresh out of witcher school. He’d been truly terrified of touching and being touched by other people, though he would never have admitted it at the time. As he’d grown older he’d become more tolerant of it, especially when Ciri had come into his life, but the jolt was always there. His friends and acquaintances all seemed to realize this to some degree, and so kept a respectful distance from Geralt’s quite-sizeable personal bubble. But occasionally they overstepped their bounds. Regis had done it more than once. Geralt got the impression that vampires just sort of did that sometimes. “Us vampires, we are very touch-oriented,” he’d mentioned at one point. So he did not begrudge his friend a hug, or a companionable shoulder to lean on, every once in a while. 

Regis seemed to sense his discomfort, however, and so stepped back, an apologetic smile on his face. Geralt flashed him a crooked little grin and shook his head. _Don’t worry about it._

“To the matter at hand…” Regis’ shoulders fell slightly, along with his face. Lines of stress and exhaustion became apparent, and for the first time Geralt noticed the bags under his dark eyes, how sunken they looked. “I… I have made a terrible mistake, my friend. I have a bit of a tale to tell, but time is of the essence in this particular case, so I will endeavor to be forthright. Though I believe such a tale is better told out of the blazing sun.”

After the two were settled at Geralt’s dining table-- _Geralt’s dining table,_ now that was a phrase neither of them had gotten used to--and Geralt had offered his beleaguered friend a drink--he got the distinct impression Regis was in need of something strong--he began his story, fingers fiddling with his glass, eyes fixed on a knot in the woodwork.

“I suppose it would be best to begin right after we parted ways, all those months ago. I tracked Dettlaff down with relative ease; truthfully, I believe he wanted to be found, though he never admitted it, at least to me. I brought him back to Tesham Mutna. I hated to do it, but I was afraid I would not get through to him without making him very upset in the process, and you’ve seen what he’s like when he rampages. I feared for the safety of any other place I would secret him away. Once there, I set out to convince him of the very same thing I learned centuries ago: that humans are not all evil or worthless, and they deserve respect and compassion as much as a fellow vampire, even if they hurt you. That humans are, in fact, not so different from us. I wanted, to, in a sense, help him mature a tad. He is… young. Perhaps not of body, but of soul. Such things are more significant to vampires, you understand. At first, he was incredibly angry with me, and refused to listen. He told me he wanted to leave human civilization behind, to live apart from them, and indeed, from everyone. He swore to me he would let Toussaint be. I didn’t trust him to keep his word. I am bonded to him, but I cannot see into his mind, you understand. I can only feel what is in his heart, and what I felt did not suggest he would do as he promised.” Regis’ fingers tightened around his glass. “So I kept him there for many weeks. And in time, he did begin to open up to what I told him, and improve his outlook on things. And I did hate to leave him trapped like that, for he was very depressed… I began to let him out, on occasion. I always kept a careful watch on him, and we never strayed far from Tesham Mutna, but all the same I think it did him good to get away from the fortress. It is a thoroughly unpleasant place.”

Geralt nodded. He remembered his own visit and wholeheartedly agreed. The very air had hung heavy with memories, and not good ones. _If walls could talk…_

“But we did argue, several times. I was always able to talk him down, but one evening, we were fighting, and I… rather lost my temper with him. The fight became physical, and he soon escaped after promising to destroy Toussaint.”

Geralt blinked. “Well, shit.”

Regis gave a wan smile. “Indeed.”

“I think he’s already gotten started at that. I talked to a girl who lost her family in a monster attack just before I came back here. Her description of the monster sounded pretty familiar.”

“Oh, no…” Regis’ eyes widened. “I thought he would at least take some time to plan…”

Geralt shook his head. “She was the only survivor. Whole village was slaughtered.”

Regis lowered his head. Then he looked up again, brow furrowed. “If he is acting this soon, then it may be an act motivated purely by rage. He may stop once the rage has burned off. I wish it had not resulted in so much suffering and death, but he may yet be prevented from laying waste to the entire duchy. We must find him and stop him.”

“What plans have you got so far?”

“That’s just the thing… I don’t really know what to do. I am a barber-surgeon, Geralt. I have no mind for dealing with monsters.” Regis seemed to draw himself inward, hunching his shoulders. “I had hoped you would have an idea. Though it’s good you found that girl when you did, I think. That village would be a good place to start. Higher vampires are generally impossible to track when they do not want to be found, but when blood-drunk we become a bit more conspicuous.”

“You know, I did get that impression...”

“Oh, hush.” Regis’ tone was chastising, but a grin grew on his face as he spoke. Geralt grinned too; he liked to see his oft-troubled friend feeling more at ease about this whole affair, though it was not an affair that warranted much ease, in any case. 

“Anyways, I’d love to get going as soon as possible, but Roach isn’t really in any shape to be doing much for the rest of the day, I think.” Geralt glanced out the window at his beleaguered steed, who’d fallen asleep where he’d left her, still saddled and bridled. “It’s been a while since she had a hard ride like that...”

Regis _tsked_ at him. “Really, Geralt, I am quite honored you trusted me enough to spur your horse to such a pace, but you must be kinder to the girl. An ill-treated beast will be quick to turn on its master, and doubtless at the most inopportune times.”

“Hey, I don’t do it all that often,” Geralt lightly returned. “And she told me once that she doesn’t really mind it, being a witcher’s horse. Something about a sense of duty. Or was that a dream?”

Regis laughed at that, forgetting for a rare moment to conceal his fangs. It was a rather surreal sight to behold. “Honestly, when it comes to you, Geralt, I could not tell you one way or the other.” He set his glass down and stood. “But yes, I had thought I would spend the evening hunting down a mule in Beauclair. Would you care to join me?”

“Much as I love fussing with vineyard paperwork, I have to admit, that does sound just a little bit more tempting.”

~~~

“Yes, mules are quite a bit easier to find in Toussaint than in the North, I must say,” Regis said as they entered the city. Thankfully, the heat had subsided somewhat in the shadows of late evening. “I admit, there are aspects of the duchy I did not fully come to appreciate until I had spent some time here unfettered by urgent matters. It is convenient to live near others of my sort, even if I don’t find their company particularly pleasant. And I like the warmth.”

“You like this?” Geralt raised an eyebrow, only half joking. “I’ve almost gone nocturnal, trying to stay out of the sun.”

“Well, the drought’s been a bit much, I suppose,” Regis acquiesced. “But my point stands. Dettlaff theorizes that before the Conjunction, the climate of the world we lived in was quite hotter than this world.” Regis fell silent for a moment, eyes flitting over the pavement beneath their feet.

Geralt glanced at him and shrugged. “Ehh, I’m a northerner. I’m not happy unless I’m buried in snow and my toes are freezing off.” 

Regis’ mouth curled up in a little smile. Then he looked up. “Oh, here she is.”

The ‘she’ in question was a short, wiry woman with dark hair in a loose braid, sweeping the floor of a barn tucked away on a side street. She was also probably a vampire; Geralt wasn’t as good at picking out lady vampires, but she offered the two of them a familiar thin-lipped smile as they approached. “Ahh, Regis, been a while. And that Witcher fella. What can I do for you?” 

“I find myself in need of a travel mule. Preferably, one that is fast and hardy.”

“Well, come on in, then.” The woman led them to the back corner of the barn, where big airy stalls stood with windows opening into a paddock. For now, though, the windows were closed and candles were lit, giving a warm and cozy feel to the place. The mules wandered up to their stall doors, staring at the three of them through the bars with liquid brown eyes. Geralt scratched idly at an inquisitive nose as he listened to the other two talk.

There is another thing I wanted to ask you about,” Regis murmured to the woman in the midst of their mule discussion. “I know you do not get involved in vampiric matters, but I must ask regardless. Have you heard anything of Dettlaff van der Eretein recently?”

The woman glanced at Geralt for a moment and, seeing he hadn’t leapt to attack either of them, turned back to Regis and frowned. “Can’t say I have, sorry. He was the one involved in that Beast of Beauclair thing, wasn’t he? What’d’ya wanna find him for? Thought he was all done throwing his tantrum.” The woman held up a hand. “Ahh, but no need to tell me anything, I don’t wanna know.”

“Of course. But thank you for your help, regardless.”

“Nahh, no need for thanks. Money’s thanks enough.” She grinned as she pocketed her newfound coin and handed the lead for a mule over to him.

“But one must be well-mannered to one’s fellows irrespective of payment involved, no?”

The woman laughed and shook her head. “Of course, Regis, of course.”

~~~

“Who is she?” Geralt asked once they had left the stable behind.

“One of a very few acquaintances I’ve picked up since settling in Toussaint,” Regis replied. "She shares my distaste for interacting with fellow vampires. Which is why we do not speak all that often. But we do share a certain respect for each other, even so. She is a steadfast ally, if not strictly a friend.” Then he frowned. “That reminds me to tell you, I do have a few vampiric friends and acquaintances who may pay us a visit at some point. I have written to everyone I possibly could who may be able to provide assistance, you see, and it’s faster to travel in mist form than it is to send a letter back by one of my crows, for the most part. They are… strange, by human standards. But you are with me, and so there is no reason you should be in danger. Not that I don’t trust you to defend yourself, but…”

“Naww, I get it,” Geralt waved a hand at him. “Not really looking forward to fighting any more higher vampires than I need to.”

“I must say I agree with you in this case, though I’m sure it will never come to that. And Geralt?”  
“Hmm?”

“It is good to see you again, my friend.”

Geralt smiled. “You too, Regis."


End file.
